


No-Shave November

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:56:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy doesn't start the argument about who can grow what kind of facial hair, but he's not going to take Miller's suggestion that he can't grow a beard lying down. He definitely can.It wouldn't even be a big deal, if not for Clarke making it weird.





	No-Shave November

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this YikYak post](http://moepoke.tumblr.com/post/129001291635/this-is-some-college-au-gold), Chris Larkin's comments at UD about his inability to grow facial hair, and Bob Morley's always kind of endearingly patchy but nonetheless v attractive facial hair.

Most things that go wrong in Bellamy's life can be blamed on one of three people: Octavia, Miller, or Clarke. 

O probably holds the lifetime record, but she had a head start. She's been using her big eyes and pleading voice, as well as various forms of psychological warfare, to get him to do stupid things since she was born. Miller's been doing it since college, and Clarke's only had since they moved in together to screw with his better judgement. But she's definitely already very, very good at it.

The beard thing, though, that starts with Miller.

More accurately, it starts with Monty, but Monty is in Bellamy's life because of Miller, and Miller is the one who escalates the whole thing. He's definitely the one who deserves the credit.

All Monty says is, “Yeah, I barely even need to shave. I can’t grow facial hair.”

Miller’s the one who adds, “Bellamy can’t either.”

“Bellamy stubbles,” Clarke says. She probably thinks she's being helpful. “If he hasn’t shaved in the morning, I can always tell.”

“Yeah, but he couldn’t grow a beard.”

“Says who?” Bellamy asks, glaring at him.

“Miller,” Monty supplies. “Literally Miller is saying that.”

“I can grow a beard.”

“In what, three years?”

He glares at Miller. “It wouldn’t take that long.”

“Do you even want a beard?” Clarke asks. “Isn’t it a pain?”

"Having a beard can't be worse than shaving," Raven says. "I hate shaving."

"There's some grooming involved," says Miller.

Bellamy's scowl deepens. "Don't act like you're the expert."

"Dude, I can grow a beard in like half a day. I stop shaving and it's like a jungle on my face in no time."

"So we should probably all stop shaving," says Monty. "You know, for science. A case study in facial hair growth."

"Are you doing a science fair project?" Clarke asks. "Are you actually going to measure?"

"Honestly, I'm just curious what Miller looks like with a beard," he says, which means Bellamy is a bad friend if he doesn't agree to this. If Monty's going to be into Miller with a beard, then Bellamy owes it to him, as his BFF, to enable that.

"If it's for science, I'm in," he says.

Raven snorts. "Yeah, because science is always your top priority."

"I don't want to stand in the way of progress. And like you said, not shaving doesn't require a ton of effort. I haven't had facial hair since high school. It'll be fun."

"Just don't blame me when mine's twice as luxurious as yours," says Miller. "It's just genetics. Don't hate the player--"

"I definitely hate the player," he says, wrapping his arm around Miller's neck. "Shut up. My beard's going to be awesome."

"Uh huh." Miller pats his side, a clear _thanks_ , in their own personal language of stupid affection. "Looking forward to it."

*

"Did you have that magnetic face toy when you were little?"

Bellamy glances over at Clarke. She's sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal, watching him by the coffee maker with a thoughtful expression. As roommates go, she's probably the best he's ever had, although he didn't think she would be when she moved in. When he first started living with people outside his family, he was sure that the perfect roommate would be the person he never fought with, just like he thought the perfect relationship would be one with no strife in it at all. But conflict is inevitable, impossible to completely avoid, and what matters isn't never having fights, but being able to survive the fights and come out stronger.

The fact that he and Clarke can do that isn't why he's interested in her romantically; he has a list of reasons a mile long for why he's interested in her. But it's part of why he thinks they could make it work. They know how to get along, but also how to disagree.

"You're going to have to be more specific," he tells her.

"I feel like it's one of those things they had the dentist's office? It was a this guy's face covered in plastic, and there were a bunch of iron filings in it, and you could shake it to give him different facial hair?"

He takes a sip of coffee. "That sounds vaguely familiar, yeah. Why?"

"That's what you trying to grow a beard looks like."

The snort takes him by surprise, even though he should have seen it coming, and coffee splatters on his face, luckily not hot enough to burn.

He removes his glasses to wipe them off, wiping his face while he's at it, and when he's done, Clarke is looking smug.

"Wow, thanks. How long have you been sitting on that one?"

"You've only been growing the beard for like a week and a half, so not that long. It did take me a while to figure out what it was reminding me of."

"Glad you got there. It's a work in progress, okay? It's going to get better."

"Better how?"

"It'll fill out. Less gaps. You'll be happier."

"I'm not sure about that."

He scowls. "Which one of us knows better what my beard looks like?"

"Not like that, just--I feel like a beard could really work on you, and I'm not sure that's good for me."

It's not what he was expecting. "Why would it be bad for you?"

"Come on, you already look like _this_ ," she says, gesturing up and down his body like it's supposed to clear things up. "You're already good-looking enough, if you get a beard I might lose all self-control and jump you. And that's _me_."

For a second, his voice is just dead, but he manages to recover. "What do you mean, that's you?"

It's not really the question he's most interested in asking, but it is the safest. He can't just ask her if she really wants to jump him, or how good-looking he is now, or how much more attractive she thinks he might become.

"I have my defenses built up. We don't want strangers on the street to swoon at the sight of you."

"You know you're giving me a lot of mixed signals here, right? My facial hair looks like really attractive iron filings? Is it good or bad?"

She shrugs. "If it keeps growing, I think it could work on you. I don't know if the world is ready."

"So I should shave to keep my attractiveness in check?"

"It's already unfair. Leave some hotness for the rest of us."

"It could look really bad," he says, careful. Maybe he's being filmed. Maybe this is some elaborate ploy to get him to admit he can't grow a beard, or to give him the opportunity to bow out gracefully if this is all his facial hair can do. "I had a mustache in high school, it really wasn't a good look."

"I think the full beard will help. And I've seen pictures of you in high school, you're a lot hotter now. You filled out."

"Thanks? Is it national stroke your roommate's ego day or something? Should I be telling you it should be illegal for you to wear tanktops?"

She's wearing one now, of course, because that's what she sleeps in, but she looks down at herself like the outfit is a surprise. It's never a surprise to him, because it's impossible to not be stupidly aware of every inch of cleavage, despite his best efforts to be an appropriate person. He doesn't stare or anything, but he _knows_.

"It probably should be," she agrees. And then she picks up her bowl, washes it out, puts it in the dishwasher, and leaves, patting his shoulder on the way out. "Have a good day at work!" she calls from the other room, and he just stares down at his own bowl.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Thanks."

*

"Clarke says if I grow a beard, she might jump me."

Miller pauses for a second, then brings his sandwich to his mouth and takes a deliberate bite. They work close enough together that they can sometimes get lunch, and while it doesn't happen often, this felt like an emergency.

"Man, that's cold."

He blinks. "What?"

Miller smirks. "I mean, you can't grow one, so--"

"Fuck you," he says, throwing his wadded up straw wrapper in the general direction of Miller's face. "It's going fine, and this is a real problem."

"If you can actually grow a beard, this is basically the best news ever, right? You want her to jump you, she wants to jump you, everything's awesome."

"Yeah, but--" He pokes at his salad. "I don't know if she meant it."

"What's the alternate interpretation of that?" he asks. "Seriously, that's not ambiguous."

"Maybe she was just trying to get me to shave. Some weird mind game."

"So she thinks you don't want to sleep with her and she figures the idea is so gross you'll shave to protect yourself? That's seriously your theory?"

"Like that's so much weirder than her deciding to tell me she wants to fuck me, but only if I grow a beard?"

"Was that really what she said? Because that doesn't sound like her."

He leans back, closing his eyes. "No, what she said was that I'm already hot enough, and the beard might push me over the edge, so I should shave. For the good of the world."

"Jesus, you guys are bad at this," Miller finally says, and Bellamy's scowl deepens.

"How is this my fault? I'm not doing anything. The beard was to help _you_. Is Monty into your rugged manliness yet?"

"You know you started this conversation, right? And you know you started it because you want to middle-school gossip about whether or not your roommate likes you. Which she does. So all you have to do is grow a beard and you'll get laid."

"It's can't be that easy," he says, putting his head down on the table with a groan. "Right? There's no way my beard looks that good."

"Oh yeah, no. Definitely not. The only reason she would think you're getting hotter is that she's into you."

"That doesn't actually make me feel better."

"You're honestly the only person in the world who could make the girl you're into hitting on you a bad thing."

He raises his iced tea. "Yeah, I'm proud of myself too." 

*

Miller tosses him a box of condoms on their way to the train station after work; Bellamy only catches it because he knew it must be coming. The tradition started when they were in college, on Miller's first date with another guy, when he was freaking out about whether or not he'd be getting laid and how he didn't have condoms, and Bellamy went and bought him a pack between classes. It became shorthand between them, a clear _I believe in you and think you will get laid_ message.

It's the fourth time Miller's done it since Bellamy and Clarke became roommates, and Bellamy has yet to use a single one. Not that he was particularly into random hookups before Clarke moved in, but it's kind of sad, how full his closet is of condoms he's completely failing to use.

"You know I have plenty of condoms, right? You could at least start buying smaller boxes."

"I'm trying to show my support. I believe, someday, you're going to get your head out of your ass, and then you're getting laid _a lot_."

He sighs and stashes the box in his bag. "Your support means the world to me. I'm saving all of them for when you get a date with Monty, and then I'll give them back."

"Brotherhood of the Traveling Condom Boxes," he agrees, and he and Bellamy bump fists on it.

"Yeah," he says, shaking his head with a smile. "That's us."

*

Bellamy can admit that he does not grow _great_ beards, not thick bushy ones, anyway. He clearly has _something_ on his face, and there's enough coverage that it counts as a beard, but it's nothing compared to Miller. If he's sticking with Clarke's obscure childhood memories theme for comparisons, he'd say Miller is the chia pet they showed in commercials, lush with thick growth, and he's more like the chia pets he encountered in the wild, scraggly and patchy and not totally as advertised.

He has other natural aptitudes. This just doesn't happen to be his most consistent strength.

"It's definitely a beard, right?"

Clarke doesn't look up from her phone. "Merriam-Webster says a beard is _the hair that grows on a man's face often excluding the mustache_. So the bar is pretty low."

"Thanks, real helpful."

"I still don't entirely get what you're trying to prove. We all knew you grew facial hair. You have stubble every time you're off work for more than a day. I vouched for that."

"I'm not trying to prove anything, I'm trying to wingman Miller. He likes Monty, Monty wanted to do the beard thing, I'm doing the beard thing. But if I'm going to do it, I want to do it well."

That does get her attention on him, and her smile is warm. "You have a very nice beard, Bellamy."

"How are your lust levels doing?"

"You're definitely going to stop some traffic. Maybe cause an accident."

Her voice is light, a little teasing, easy. In an ideal world, he'd point out that she didn't say anything about _her_ lust there, but if he does, she'll know he cares about it. Which he does, obviously, he's been turning it over in the back of his mind basically non-stop, but he can't just _say _that.__

__Miller might be right; he could just be a dumbass._ _

__"That's the dream." He rubs his jaw. "It really looks okay? No stray hairs or anything?"_ _

__"You're actually worried about this."_ _

__"It's a lot patchier than Miller's. I just want it to look--deliberate. Like I grew a beard instead of just forgetting to shave."_ _

__"You're ridiculous," Clarke tells him, but her voice is all fondness. She gets up and actually comes over, leaning in close to inspect him._ _

__" _You're_ ridiculous," he mutters, reflexive, and she pats his cheek._ _

__"You look great. What you lack in density, you make up for in style. You look great."_ _

__"Thanks for humoring me."_ _

__She's so _close_ , her face right by his, and he could kiss her, but it could ruin his whole life. Or at least enough of it. He'd have to get a new roommate, he'd know she wasn't interested, and he'd have to live with it._ _

__If it went wrong._ _

__"You know you're handsome, Bellamy."_ _

__"I don't know if I look good with a beard. I need validation."_ _

__"I'd do you," she says, and steps out of his personal space before he can respond. "Are you ready to go or what?"_ _

__It's either very honest or very sarcastic, and he has no idea how to tell which aside from, again, asking and potentially ruining his life._ _

__So getting really drunk is probably his best move, at this point._ _

__"So ready," he says. "Let's go."_ _

__*_ _

__Monty declares Miller the winner of the beard contest, and Bellamy, being the good wingman he is, immediately calls bullshit._ _

__"You're biased."_ _

__"Excuse me?" Monty asks. "I'm biased? How am I biased?"_ _

__"You definitely like Miller better than you like me."_ _

__"So you're saying I'm not an impartial judge?"_ _

__"You're also involved in the contest," Clarke pipes up. "You were growing facial hair too."_ _

__"Yeah, we all know I didn't win. That's not even a possibility."_ _

__"Okay, but what are the criteria?" Raven asks, and Bellamy shoots a grin at Clarke. This many people involved means that it's legit, and the _Monty likes Miller too much_ objection is standing._ _

__Clarke, surprisingly, isn't looking at him. She's looking at Raven, really thinking the question over. "Yeah, I don't think it can _just_ be about total growth. Miller grows facial hair faster than Bellamy, we knew that going in. That shouldn't really be the question."_ _

__"But we're all agreed I'm not in the running, right?" Monty asks._ _

__"Yeah, just biased. You were always going to give it to Miller."_ _

__"You're just going to give it to Bellamy," Monty shoots back, and Clarke shrugs one shoulder._ _

__"I think he did a better job."_ _

__"With no bias at all, right?" asks Raven._ _

__"Miller's got a great beard, but I don't think he's put as much effort into it."_ _

__"Yeah, that's kind of the point," says Miller. "It's more work for me to not grow a beard. That was what I was saying."_ _

__"Yeah, but Bellamy did styling," says Clarke. "Like I said, effort. That counts. You're just riding on natural aptitude."_ _

__"Hey, I styled. I have a trimmer. I molded this."_ _

__"We can't just turn this into _who looks better_ ," says Monty. "Then it's all bias."_ _

__"Is there an actual prize on the line here?" Bellamy can't help asking. "Or are you guys just theoretically arguing?"_ _

__"You started it!" Monty protests._ _

__"I just want to be clear on the stakes. Obviously, I want to win, but am I getting anything?"_ _

__"Glory," says Raven._ _

__"Awesome. Clarke's right, I deserve style points. It's not just about length. There are other considerations."_ _

__"It's not the size that counts, it's how you use it." Miller supplies._ _

__Bellamy elbows him, but Clarke ignores the entire interaction. "That's why we need a metric," she says. "And voting."_ _

__"It was my idea, why can't I just declare a winner?" asks Monty. "None of you were involved."_ _

__"Bias," says Clarke. "Bellamy never had a chance."_ _

__"That makes me the only unbiased person," Raven says. "Monty votes Miller, Clarke votes Bellamy, I'm the tiebreaker. So you guys should start buying me drinks."_ _

__The night goes the usual way after that, everyone too drunk and sloppy, with Raven finally declaring a tie when Clarke reminds her she hasn't made a decision yet. Miller tells Bellamy his beard is _fucking beautiful_ , and Bellamy returns the favor, and by the time they're all piling into cabs to go home, he feels like the world has never been better._ _

__"Hey," he tells Clarke, nudging his face against her hair._ _

__"Hey."_ _

__"I'd do you too."_ _

__She laughs. "I don't even have a beard."_ _

__"If you did, I'd do you even harder."_ _

__Her hand tangles in his hair, rubbing gently. "Really? I'm pretty sure it looks a lot better on you than me."_ _

__"Fine, I'd do you hard no matter what," he grants, and promptly falls asleep on her._ _

__*_ _

__He's not one of those people who forgets things he's done when he's drunk, and Clarke isn't either, so when he wakes up in the morning, he spends a while staring at his ceiling. Clarke's the one who said it sober, but she made it kind of a joke; saying it drunk, hours later, is a lot weirder._ _

__But he can't stay in his room, avoiding the conversation forever, so he staggers into the bathroom, pisses and washes his face and stares at himself for a while, checking out the beard. If he shaves it, does that make things less weird? Would it signal that he doesn't want to fuck her, that whatever happened yesterday was a weird mistake?_ _

__It's not actually a message he wants to send; he towels his face dry and heads to the kitchen, finding Clarke already at the table with her breakfast._ _

__A typical Sunday morning, apparently._ _

__"Hey," he says, cautious, pouring himself a mug of coffee._ _

__"Hi. Hangover?"_ _

__"Not really. You?"_ _

__"You know I don't get hangovers."_ _

__"I know."_ _

__He settles down across from her, trying to figure out if he can live with this conversation continuing to not happen, or if he has to force the point. He really should._ _

__Clarke takes a deliberate sip of coffee. "Why do you have so many condoms in your closet?"_ _

__It's about the last question he was expecting. "Uh, what?"_ _

__"I was helping you into your room and your closet door was open and you have, like, a lifetime supply of condoms in there. For a lifetime with a lot more sex than you're having right now. No offense."_ _

__"Oh." He rubs the back of his neck. "It's an in-joke with Miller, I guess? Every time one of us thinks the other is going to get laid, we buy condoms."_ _

__"Those are gigantic boxes."_ _

__He rubs the back of his neck. "He thought I was going to get laid a lot. It's kind of, uh--the bigger the box, the more sure he's supposed to be it would work out."_ _

__"So basically he was wrong about four of your first dates?"_ _

__"Not yet. Those are, uh--the first one was the day after I told him I had a thing for my new roommate. After you moved in."_ _

__"So, you have four huge boxes of _you're definitely going to sleep with Clarke_ condoms?"_ _

__"Kind of."_ _

__She bites the corner of her mouth, but she's smiling, and he feels himself relax, just a little. "Is that _kind of_ like it's not totally accurate, or _kind of_ like you mean yes and don't want to just say it?"_ _

__"Honestly? I think Miller thinks we're getting married."_ _

__Her burst of laughter is bright, with some relief in there too. "What do you think?"_ _

__"I'm going to want to shave eventually, so if it's just the beard--"_ _

__She slides her chair out and gets up, waiting for him to slide back himself so she can settle in his lap. It's a lot of physical contact for well before noon on a Sunday, but it's Clarke, and he's been wanting her like this for almost as long as he's known her. And the longer he knows her, the more he wants it._ _

__"I had to say something. I was getting so sick of _not_ kissing you," she says._ _

__And then she does._ _

__*_ _

__"You didn't shave yet?" Miller asks, frowning as Bellamy slides in across the table from him for lunch. His own cheeks are bare and smooth, and it's a little weird to see his entire face again._ _

__"Was I supposed to?"_ _

__"I figured you didn't actually want it." His pause is deliberate. "Besides, Monty said mine itched, so--"_ _

__He grins and leans down to get the box of condoms out of his bag, putting it on the table between them. "Awesome. You're going to need these."_ _

__"Aren't you supposed to give me those before I get laid, not after?"_ _

__"I assume you're going to keep getting laid."_ _

__"And you won't?"_ _

__"Me and Clarke still have three boxes, I think we'll be fine." He shrugs one shoulder, grin growing on his face. "She _did_ say she was going to jump me if I didn't shave, why would I have lost the beard?"_ _

__"Because the real magic was inside you the whole time? You definitely don't need a beard for her to fuck you."_ _

__"No, I don't." He grins. "But I look cute, right?"_ _

__"Adorable." He raises his chocolate milk. "Congratulations, seriously. Took you long enough."_ _

__"Right back at you." But he taps his iced tea against the milk carton. "Guess that could have turned out worse, huh?"_ _

__He smiles. "Yeah. Honestly, we should get beards more often."_ _


End file.
